Gone Before the Leaves Change
by RachelDalloway
Summary: A snapshot of Jack and Rose's rambling life together. Oneshot. Complete


_Rural Washington state_

_June 1913_

It was only one room, and the only way they could get outside was by going downstairs and through the rest of the house. They had to share a tiny bathroom at the end of the hall, and Jack had been right: there was no hot water. There wasn't any heat in the winter, but winter was still a long way off, so what did a detail like that matter? "We'll be gone by the time the leaves start to change," Rose said. "Right?" Jack smiled down at her. "Right."

It was a plain room. The only furniture was a brass double bed. There was one window. It faced the street and had no curtains. The walls had once been white, but years of dust and cigarette smoke had turned them a dull yellow.

They hadn't lived there an hour before Jack began papering the walls with drawings. Portraits of Rose, street scenes, a series he had done of children playing, a few attempts at landscapes, and even a lone self portrait lent the room an almost otherworldly air. At least, that's what Rose said. She sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, and watched, amazed as Jack took a dark purple shawl and transformed it into a curtain. It was made of soft wool with gold embroidery along the edges. "It's like what a gypsy would wear in winter," she had said when they found it. Grinning, Jack had wrapped it around her shoulders. She didn't like when their money was spent on her, but the look in Jack's eyes kept her from arguing. She had worn it even after the temperature made wool unbearable.

They didn't have electric or even gas lights, and oil was too expensive so they used candles. They didn't light them until after the sun had disappeared completely. The small table Rose discovered abandoned in an alley was soon covered in wax drippings on one corner. The rest of it was covered in chalk drawings. Jack stood next to the window and drew whatever caught his attention. After a few days he would clean the table with a damp cloth and begin again. Rose scribbled bits of poems along the edges. They didn't last long. Whatever Jack commented on was immediately rubbed out by a blushing Rose. "It's nothing," she would say, spitting on her hand and giving the wood another swipe. "Well, you're putting that spitting lesson to good use at least," Jack said.

After paying their first week's rent they had $2 left, just enough to keep them fed for a week. "I'll get a job," Jack promised that night. "I'll get one tomorrow. Don't worry." Rose smiled and handed him half a sandwich. "I'm not worried."

"You gave me the meat," he said.

"I know." She took a bite of her half. "I gave us both the meat."

"No, you take mine."

"And what will you eat?"

"There's the cheese and tomato."

"That hardly qualifies as a tomato."

"But there is the cheese," he pointed out. "There's more than enough of that."

"Eat the sandwich. Please."

Rose was the one to get a job the next day. She was to be a waitress at a place that was restaurant by day and a bar and sometimes brothel by night. Jack didn't like the idea, but he didn't say anything.

A few days later he taught her how to fight. "I know how to hit," she said as he led her to a clearing in the woods. "And spit in someone's eye." Jack held in a smile. "I know you do," he said. "But I'll feel better knowing you can do other things." They stood in the middle of the clearing and faced each other. "And why might I need to know this?" she asked. "In case I'm not there," he said. "Not that I'm goin anywhere." She held her fist up and assumed her best imitation of a fighter's stance. "Fine. Teach me to hit like a man."

"Well, a real man wouldn't be hitting you, but this is what you do…."

Rose jabbed at him halfheartedly with her right fist. "I can't do this," she said dejectedly. He took hold of her hands. "Yes, you can. You're worried about hurting me. Don't be."

"This is because of my job, isn't it? You think one of those loggers is going to do something to me, don't you?" He didn't answer. "Jack," she pressed, "Tell me."

"I need to know you'll be alright if I'm not around." He raised her fists to his lips. "It's not up to you to save me, Jack," she said softly. He kissed her knuckles. "You're right. So let me show you how to save yourself."

It was dark when they finally left the clearing. The streets were filled with the sounds of music, impromptu parties, and the curse slinging that signaled a fight was about to begin. _What would my mother say if she could see me here?_ Rose wondered as they walked up Main Street. Prostitutes beckoned from second floor balconies on each side, a bar was on just about every corner. It was like a tiny piece of the Wild West had been preserved and moved north. Jack's hand tightened around hers. He resisted the urge to move it to her waist and pull her closer.

Their room was pitch black, but it was so small they didn't need any light. Rose pulled the bottom of the curtain back and secured it on a nail. She opened the window a few inches, letting in a cool breeze. Each day the June heat turned their room into an oven, and each night Rose did her best to turn it back. It was a war she was determined to win.

In the sliver of light from the moon she could just make out the shape of Jack lying on the bed. His clothes were folded neatly and in a pile on the floor. She just stood there for a moment, admiring him. He grinned at her. "Whatcha doin?"

"Nothing."

His body had taken her awhile to get used to. He was so at home in it; he moved easily whether he was clothed or not. She, on the other hand, had never been naked for more than a few minutes at a time before meeting him. Her body was a place for clothes to be displayed; her hands and neck were for the hanging of jewels. But Jack made her feel as though _she _were the jewel on display.

They lay in the dark, hands clasped in the space between them because it was too hot to hold each other. Jack slowly traced a star on her knuckle with his thumb. The noise outside was just getting started; peace wouldn't return to the streets until almost dawn. That was their favorite time. They made love in the predawn coolness. Jack's golden brown tan glowed warmly next to Rose's ethereal fairness. They moved together slowly, basking in the luxury of security.

Rose closed her eyes and let her cheek rest against Jack's. His arms encircled her; his hands pressed against her back. He shivered as her breath blew against his ear. Her legs were wrapped tightly around his hips. His hair was twisted around her fingers. Her grip on him tightened. "Jack," she whispered, sending another shiver through gasped as he lightly nipped at her neck. "Jack."

"Mmhmmm?"

"Do that again."

Later he would walk her to work. He squeeze her hand and give her a quick kiss before leaving her to navigate the world alone for a few hours. He would linger for a few minutes, watching her through the window. She moved quickly, a slip of paper in hand. Every man's eyes were on her. "She'll be fine," he said to himself. "Let them look." He walked away slowly. He had plenty of time before his job began. The woodcutters were still at breakfast, and he couldn't load the wood they weren't cutting yet. "Might even have time for a drawing."


End file.
